I Don't Worry About Barbara Harris' Albuquerque in "Nashville"

 
Whenever critics and film buffs get into discussions of the top actors and actresses working in films throughout the 1960s and 1970s, one person who doesn't get mentioned enough is Barbara Harris.  An attractive, pixie-ish blonde who started out on Broadway (she won a Tony for the musical "The Apple Tree" in 1967), Harris had an impressive run of movies from the mid-1960s, starting with her debut in "A Thousand Clowns" (1965), and extending into the late-1970s.  She was unique in that she can't quite be regarded a "Broadway" actress because she stopped working in that venue by the late-1960s, and didn't exactly become known as an actress who worked exclusively in films from that point on because her appearances on-screen were occasional and sporadic.  She didn't even utilize television as her "bread and butter" medium with numerous episodic TV guest appearances to her name the way other stage-oriented actors from New York have been known to do in order to make a quick buck.  However, when she did work in the movies, Barbara Harris' performances were usually effervescent and impressive.

Barbara Harris was a marvelously detailed and expressive actress who understood just how far to take her characters on-screen without overacting as if she was projecting to the last seat in the theater.  She was a warm and endearing presence on-screen who always made her quirky characters human, decent, and understandable.  She brought out unconventional nuances in her characters that were never self-indulgent or inappropriate, but that always seemed perfectly integrated with her roles.  Her pickiness in choosing her movies meant that we would have a limited number of films to savor her in, but it also ensured that we would never get tired of watching her from overexposure like we do with other actresses who don't know how to select their roles carefully.  I think the high point in her career came in 1975 when she starred in one of the films that she is most closely associated with in her career, Robert Altman's "Nashville" (1975).

In "Nashville," Harris played probably the most hopeful and optimistic of all the 24 characters in that film, the wayward Winifred, wife of irascible farmer Star (Bert Remsen) who abandons her husband in the middle of a freeway pile-up driving into the city of Nashville and pursues her dreams of becoming a country music star.  When she ditches her husband, she rechristens herself "Albuquerque" and begins to insinuate her way into any opportunity where she can try to make contacts and make an indelible impression upon the people she meets who she hopes will help further her goal.  Unlike practically all the other characters in the movie--who are portrayed as unhappy, pathetic, devious, manipulative, miserable, or delusional--Albuquerque is probably the most optimistic and happiest character in the movie.  She's willing to stick her neck out in any situation so long as it helps her become a country music star.

One of Albuquerque's most endearing moments is when she's caught backstage at the Grand Ole Opry by a security guard asking her to produce her backstage pass.  Even though the security guard has taken her by the arm and won't let go, Albuquerque never loses her cool as she tries to bluff her way out of the situation.  When country music sensation Connie White (Karen Black) suddenly appears, on her way to the stage, Albuquerque attempts to make conversation with the disinterested Connie White in an effort to keep from getting thrown out.  Even as Connie White gives a silent directive to the security guard that indicates "I don't know this person, keep them away from me," Albuquerque continues chattering away, anything to keep the discussion going long enough to ensure her continued presence at the Opry.

The reason I don't consider Harris' Albuquerque to be delusional has to do with the scene early in the movie where she is walking alongside the highway with Kenny Frasier (David Hayward), who asks Albuquerque about her life and what she's doing in Nashville.  Albuquerque explains, "Well, I know it sounds arrogant, but I'm on my way to town, if I ever make it, to become a country-western singer or star."  When Kenny asks what she plans to do if she doesn't make it, Albuquerque responds, "Oh, I could always go into sales...Well, I know all about trucks, so I'd go into trucking, I guess...No, I'm not kiddin' you.  I'm in a truck enough.  And I know how to fix motors and all that."  When Kenny condescendingly remarks that no one would ever buy a truck from a girl, Albuquerque becomes frustrated and annoyed and says, "I been fixin' motors a long time.  They'd buy 'em from me 'cause I know all about motors.  Why do you say that?  See, what's happenin' is, if I can't sell trucks and I can't go..."

In this scene, we get a sense of who Albuquerque is and what she has done with her life prior to running away from her husband.  We learn that she's a mechanically inclined individual who already has a contingency plan in place in case her pursuit of a singing career proves fruitless.  She knows the extent to which the odds are against her and hasn't put all her eggs in one basket.  Her acknowledgement at the start of the scene that her aspirations of fame as a singer "sounds arrogant" demonstrates the extent to which she is a realist, unlike the equally hopeful waitress Sueleen Gay (Gwen Welles) who has no clue how untalented she is and how she is a long shot for ever becoming a successful singer.  Albuquerque simply wants an opportunity to see if she can fulfill her dreams, rather than passively suffering in silence back at the farm she shares with her husband. 

Albuquerque might get frustrated with the condescension of doubters like Kenny and her husband, who chases her throughout Nashville in an effort to try and bring her back home, but she never gives up even when her singing debut at the Nashville speedway is drowned out by the engines of the race cars competing on the track.  In a cast made up of defeatist, downbeat and narcissistic characters, Albuquerque shines bright because of her endearing scrappiness.  We admire her gumption when she sneaks into the political smoker that John Triplette (Michael Murphy) and Delbert Reese (Ned Beatty) are hosting to raise money for Presidential candidate Hal Philip Walker and has stolen a piece of steak, probably from the kitchen, that she eats while holding it in her hand with a napkin, picking pieces from it with a fork.

 
While there, she overhears John Triplette and Delbert promise the gullible Sueleen that she'll have a chance to sing at the political rally that Walker is hosting the next day if she agrees to strip for the audience.  Albuquerque makes sure to attend the rally in order to see if there might also be an opportunity for her to sing as well.  For Albuquerque, nothing is too difficult or intimidating if it helps her achieve her dreams.  She has no sense of entitlement and is willing to sleep in unlocked cars, hitch rides with well-meaning strangers like Tricycle Man (Jeff Goldblum) and Wade Cooley (Robert DoQui) in order to get around Nashville's large metropolitan area, and work hard in order to survive, but she's smart enough not to be manipulated like Sueleen is by unscrupulous predators like Triplette and Delbert, who don't have her best interests at heart.

That's why it's so satisfying at the end when, after Kenny has assassinated country star Barbara Jean (Ronee Blakely) at the political rally for Hal Philip Walker at the Parthenon in Nashville's Centennial Park, Albuquerque takes the microphone from a wounded and dazed Haven Hamilton (Henry Gibson) and begins singing Keith Carradine's pessimistic, yet ironically uplifting, anthem "It Don't Worry Me."  With its lyrics describing unending optimism in the face of fiscal, social, and political strife, "It Don't Worry Me" perfectly reflects Albuquerque's proactive can-do attitude.  Many people have interpreted the ending of "Nashville" as being a cynical, modern-day variation on "42nd Street" (1932) and "A Star is Born" (1937) because of its depiction of a talented unknown being given a chance to shine in the spotlight, but this big break didn't merely happen to Albuquerque by chance.  Unlike the other characters, especially the pathetic Barbara Jean, Albuquerque has no time to wallow in self-pity and has created this opportunity for herself at the end of the movie through a combination of ambition, shrewdness and initiative.  Albuquerque knew how to position herself to be at the right place at the right time.  She's one of the few characters in "Nashville" who doesn't feel sorry for herself, which is why she's also the only one who truly understands what the lyrics of "It Don't Worry Me" really mean.

What I like about the ending is that, even though we realize how Albuquerque actually has genuine musical talent, she isn't portrayed as someone who has a pitch-perfect, crystal-clear voice.  That would have been too unrealistic and undermined the dramatic and emotional credibility of the moment.  As Harris sings "It Don't Worry Me" in a raw, heartfelt manner we realize the extent of Albuquerque's innate ability to get to the essence of a song and inspire an audience to share the experience of it with her.  We sense that Albuquerque's hard work may start to pay off and that she may be on the brink of a promising career as a recording artist.  Keith Carradine's Tom Frank, whose character is the one who originally wrote and recorded "It Don't Worry Me," may have intended the song to be a cynical, defeatist anthem about nihilism, but Albuquerque does the seemingly impossible and turns it into a song about hope and perseverance.  In so doing, she inspires the shocked and traumatized audience, who have just witnessed Barbara Jean's assassination, to calm down and join her in a rousing celebration of optimism and survival.  That's why I consider Barbara Harris' Albuquerque the only person in "Nashville" with their act together, and also the only that no one needs to worry about after the credits have rolled.

Genuine Accomplishment and Achievement in "The Right Stuff"

I was reminded earlier that today is the 50th anniversary of Astronaut Gordon Cooper's flight in the Faith 7 spacecraft around the Earth 22 times over 34 hours in space in what would be the final mission of the Project Mercury human spaceflight program.  It inspired me to want to write about the movie that dramatizes this event, as well as many others, that characterized the early days of America's space program, Philip Kaufman's masterpiece "The Right Stuff" (1983), based on Tom Wolfe's best selling book.  I've been wanting to write about this movie for a long time, as it has special significance in my family's life.  It is probably my brother's favorite movie and was the first movie we ever rented and watched at home when we bought our first VCR.  I took it for granted at the time but over the years I have also grown to love it as much as he does.  I now recognize it for the genuine masterpiece that it is.  However, even though I always liked the movie, I wish I had been able to properly appreciate it at the time of its original release.  It's only because of life experiences, which includes having had the opportunity to become friends with accomplished current and former military personnel who helped me to better understand the concepts and themes that "The Right Stuff" represents, that I have been able to develop a deeper appreciation and understanding of the movie. 

I even attended a 20th anniversary screening of the movie in 2003 at the Egyptian Theatre in Hollywood that Warner Home Video hosted to commemorate the release of the Special Edition DVD.  As I recall, Ed Harris, Barbara Hershey, Philip Kaufman, Veronica Cartwright, Fred Ward, Scott Paulin, Charles Frank, Jeff Goldblum, Harry Shearer, Pamela Reed, Kathy Baker, Mary Jo Deschanel, Lance Henriksen, Scott Wilson, were all in attendance that night along with Chuck Yeager and Gordon Cooper.  I invited a good friend from college to attend with me that night, and it was one of the most inspiring Q&A movie screenings I ever attended when I still lived in Los Angeles.  I remember being very touched at realizing how close Barbara Hershey, who played Chuck Yeager's real-life wife Glynnis, and Pamela Reed, who played Gordon Cooper's real-life wife Trudy, became with Yeager and Cooper while working on the movie.  Each of those actresses, as I recall, had genuine chemistry on-stage with those great men that you simply can't artificially manufacture, but that comes from developing a sincere connection with another human being.

I also remember how, throughout the entire movie, the audience continually applauded at all of their favorite scenes and bits of dialogue.  At the end of the movie, after Air Force Colonel Chuck Yeager (Sam Shepard) ejects from the new Lockheed NF-104A that he is attempting to set a new record in, his friend and colleague Colonel Jack Ridley (Levon Helm) rides out with a medic to search for him.  As they drive towards the wreckage and see smoke trail into the sky, they see a figure emerge from the wreckage walking in their direction.  The medic points at it and asks Ridley, "Sir, over there, is that a man?" to which Ridley responds with pleasure, "Yeah, you're damn right it is!" to indicate not only is that Yeager, and that he's still alive, but that he is THE man that stands tall above all other men.  Ten years later, I still vividly remember how the audience reacted with joyful and approving applause in reaction to Ridley's response.  It was just a great, great night at the movies. 

I think the reason why that particular line, as well as all the other delightful and joyful moments in "The Right Stuff," evoked such an emphatic reaction from the audience was not merely because they were watching a movie they loved.  I believe they were also reacting to to how the movie evoked memories of how the Mercury, and all the subsequent, human spaceflight programs of the United States inspired a sense of awe and wonder in all of mankind.  As such, "The Right Stuff" is a movie that celebrates genuine achievement and accomplishment.  We live in an era where people are called stars and celebrities by mere virtue of appearing as themselves on reality shows, or becoming infamous public figures by committing notorious acts, and where parents raise their children to believe that merely participating and meeting the minimum requirements of any scholastic accomplishment or athletic competition is enough to warrant praise and reward commensurate with the pinnacle of success.  The result is a population made up of narcissistic and immature people with a sense of entitlement who believe that they deserve respect and status without working hard to earn it.

The characters and events depicted in "The Right Stuff" come from an era where not only genuine accomplishment and achievement were still valued, but that success was earned through hard work and not just handed out.  The astronauts of the Mercury 7 space program became celebrities and enjoyed the material luxury and notoriety that their accomplishments earned for them, but it was still the gravy.  The actual work remained the meat that sustained their endeavors.  "The Right Stuff" is honest in demonstrating how these men enjoyed the fruits of their labor, but it makes sure to remind us that that was not their ultimate motivation.  They were motivated not by the fame and public adoration that came with their success, but by the knowledge that they were actively contributing to a momentous endeavor that would advance the development of mankind.  Throughout "The Right Stuff" are several key scenes that help to vividly underscore this theme.

When I was younger, I never really understood the nuances that underscored the scene where John Glenn (Ed Harris) confronts the other astronauts over what he perceives to be their adulterous promiscuity by giving in to the attentions of admiring females while they are in training.  He recognizes the sense of responsibility that they all have in remaining admirable public figures who do not give in to temptation and, as a result, end up doing something inappropriate because of their newfound popularity and appeal.  This evokes an angry reaction from Alan Shepard (Scott Glenn), who feels that it's none of anyone's business what the astronauts in the Mercury program do in their personal off-hours.  A fight breaks out among the men until Scott Carpenter (Charles Frank) attempts to restore order by reminding them all "John's right.  Now, whether we like it or not, we're public figures.  Whether we deserve it or not, people are gonna look up to us.  We have got a tremendous responsibility here."

Gus Grissom (Fred Ward) helps the men put it all in the proper perspective by pointing out that the real issue they need to be fighting over isn't about female fans and groupies.  As Grissom explains, "The issue here is monkey....Us.  We are the monkey."  Deke Slayton (Scott Paulin) helps develop the crux of Grissom's argument by explaining to the others that "What Gus is saying is that we're missing the point.  What Gus is saying is that we all heard the rumor that they want to send a monkey up first.  Well none of us wants to think that they're gonna send a monkey up to do a man's work.  But what Gus is saying is that what they're trying to do to us is send a man up to do a monkey's work.  Us, a bunch of college trained chimpanzees...All right, so what Gus is saying is that we got to change things around here.  He's saying that we are pilots.  And we know more about what we need to fly this thing than anybody else.  So what we have to do is to alter the experiment.  And what that comes down to is who is gonna control this thing from here on out."

The theme about this scene that it took me many years to understand is the fact that these men do not want to be passive participants--in essence, mere passengers--in the exploration of space.  They want to make sure that their education, training, skills and experience as pilots are put to active use when operating the spacecraft.  They don't want to merely be monkeys taking a ride in the spacecraft and helping to facilitate its operation through repetitive training.  The scene that builds upon this theme occurs moments later when the astronauts examine a prototype spacecraft that they are expected to simply be a passenger on-board.  (It must be noted that concerns regarding the film's depiction of the real-life working relationship between the astronauts and the scientists were raised by the astronauts themselves.  This is a genuine issue for any film that purports to dramatize actual individuals and events.  As such, while this scene does a good job underscoring the themes I am describing, it must be noted that it may not do as good a job at accurately dramatizing historical fact.)  As they examine it, Gordon Cooper (Dennis Quaid) asks the scientists and engineers who designed and constructed it, "Uh, where you plannin' on puttin' a window?"  When the scientists indicate that there is no window on the prototype, Gus Grissom responds "No window?  What about the hatch?...Yeah, the hatch.  We need a hatch with explosive bolts that we can open ourselves."  When the scientists insist that this is the final form of the capsule and that there is no hatch, Deke Slayton asks "What would happen if the automatic controls went out?"  When the scientist responds through gritted teeth that that would never happen, Slayton continues, "I said, what would happen if it did?"  Scott Carpenter interjects, "The pilot would have to fly it back" if such a malfunction occurred.

In order to make their point and leverage their influence, John Glenn and the other men remind the scientists that they could take their concerns to the press and that bad publicity could shut down funding for the program.  Cooper explains to the scientists, "Do you boys know what makes this bird go up?  Funding makes this bird go up."  As Grissom underscores, "That's right.  No bucks...No Buck Rogers."  Glenn tells the scientists, "You see, those fellows over there, they've been making us out as the seven finest and bravest pilots in all America.  And if a story were to come out in the press that we were not being allowed to fly as pilots..."  As a result, the men begin to convince the scientists to go back to the drawing boards to include a window, a hatch with explosive bolts "on the capsule" as the scientist says through gritted teeth.

Alan Shephard corrects the scientist's characterization of it as a capsule by telling him "THAT is a spacecraft, sir.  We do not refer to it as a 'capsule.'  Spacecraft."  The scientist responds, "Ja, a hatch with explosives bolts on the...Spacecraft.  There.  And there will be pitch and yaw thrusters which will enable the astronaut-occupant" to which Deke Slayton interjects "The pilot.  Astronaut-pilot."  This causes the scientist to again acquiesce through gritted teeth, "Ja, the astronaut-pilot...to have some...to have control of the re-entry procedures."  In so doing, the Mercury 7 astronauts take an active role in contributing to the design and development of the spacecraft that they will be operating in space.  They have helped to ensure that the spacecraft allows them to see the environment surrounding it and that they will have controls to operate and be able to easily exit in the event of an emergency.  By standing their ground, they have ensured that they are contributing to the Mercury 7 program as skillful pilots, rather than merely participating in it as "monkeys."

As the astronauts' fame and notoriety begin to expand with public tributes and celebrations in their honor, Gordon Cooper remarks to Gus Grissom, while attending a large-scale indoor barbecue in Houston, Texas being held in honor of all the astronauts, that the steaks served there taste the same as the ones served at Pancho's Happy Bottom Riding Club restaurant and bar when they were still serving as test pilots at Edwards Air Force Base in the California desert.  Cooper elaborates, with a bit of embarrassment, "only there's a lot more trimmings now, Gus.  You know, it's funny.  I mean, here I am, I got me 25 Grand a year for a magazine contract.  I got a free house with all the furnishings.  I got me a Corvette.  I got a free lunch from one end of America to the other, and I ain't even been up there yet...Well, I guess they're saving the best for last."  Cooper's discomfort stems from the fact that he doesn't feel he has earned the fame and rewards that entails being a member of the Mercury 7.  For him, because of the sequence and timing of his flight, the process of success and accomplishment has been reversed.  He has been given the spoils of success without having done the actual work that distinguishes himself enough to have earned it.  Cooper's attitude reflects the old-school thinking that genuine satisfaction comes from knowing you have worked hard to earn the material comforts that you are now enjoying.  It doesn't mean anything when it's simply handed to you.

Which is why the finale of the movie, depicting the launch of Gordon Cooper's flight into space on the Faith 7 aircraft, which took place 50 years ago today, has such resonance and impact.  Throughout the movie, we have seen the preparation and training that Cooper, and the other astronauts, have put into becoming ready for the momentous occasion of orbiting the Earth in outer space.  As the spacecraft rises into the sky, and the sun shines in through the window that Cooper insisted earlier needed to be integrated into the design of the spacecraft, Cooper remarks with genuine awe "Oh Lord, what a Heavenly light."  Cooper knows that his hard work throughout his career has paid off by having earned the privilege of seeing the sun from a perspective that few will ever get to see.  As Levon Helm's stirring narration intones at the end, "on that glorious day in May 1963, Gordon Cooper went higher, farther, and faster than any other American.  Twenty-two complete orbits around the world.  He was the last American ever to go into space alone.  And, for a brief moment, Gordo Cooper became the greatest pilot anyone had ever seen."

I'm always deeply moved and choked up by that last line whenever I watch "The Right Stuff" because it underscores the degree to which I am in awe of what Cooper, the other men of the Mercury program, and future astronauts who would follow them, would accomplish in their exploration of space.  I think it has to do with the fact that they accomplished something that not only fulfilled their individual lifelong dreams and aspirations, but also made contributions on a much broader scope by improving and advancing mankind.  Their sense of honor and integrity, as well as ambition and desire for achievement, allowed them to have what it takes to make their mark in the successful exploration of Space--in essence, The Right Stuff--that far too many individuals are lacking in these days.  The standards they set are the ones we should continue to aspire to, and "The Right Stuff" as a movie does a superb job of reminding us about that.

Julianne Moore's Romanticization of Suffering

I used to be a big fan of Julianne Moore all the way back to the early 1990s when I saw her in Robert Altman's "Short Cuts" (1993) and thought she was superb in it.  In a short amount of time, I saw everything she had made up to that point and I felt like I had discovered a rising star.  I often told friends to keep an eye out for Julianne Moore and to expect great things from her.  So it was very enjoyable and satisfying to see her rise to prominence in the later part of the decade and into the early 2000s when it seemed as if she was appearing in every major movie being made.  At the time, I was much younger and had much less life experience.  As such, I thought it was cool to discover an actress who had movie star glamor attached to her who also seemed willing to play roles in a very gritty, off-beat manner.  I praised what I thought at the time was her range and originality.  However, as I have gotten older and gained more life experience, my opinion about Julianne Moore has also changed considerably as well.

I absolutely cannot stand Julianne Moore as an actress or as an individual these days.  There's something about her I find off-putting, cold and self-indulgent as an actress.  No doubt, she is a very technically proficient and skillful performer, but I think she is far too attracted to the dark side of humanity in a way that borders on being misanthropic.  She seems to revel in bringing out the worst qualities in a character, rather than trying to find the humanity and redeeming aspects of an individual.  When she played Sarah Palin in the HBO movie "Game Change" (2012), I found her performance to be one-dimensional and predictable.  She didn't show us anything about Sarah Palin that we didn't already suspect.  I never got the impression that she tried hard to find anything original to base the character on.  I'm not a fan of Palin at all, but I would have preferred it if Moore had tried to find the humanity in her in a way that was more inspired.  (Even Tina Fey brings more humanity to her characterization of Palin with her humorous interpretation of Palin's personality.)  I have no problems with actors and actresses playing characters as unsympathetically and gritty as they need to be.  But, in Julianne Moore's case, I get the feeling that she seems interested in taking characters that were not meant to be dark or pathetic or horrible and foisting those qualities upon them whether it is appropriate or not.

Two cases on-point were Moore's appearances in Gus Van Sant's horrendous remake of Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho" (1998) and Ridley Scott's "Hannibal" (2001), the poorly received sequel to "The Silence of the Lambs" (1991).  In both instances, Moore was assuming roles played by, respectively, Vera Miles and Jodie Foster that were already well-known to movie audiences.  Moore added nuances to them that must have seemed inspired and original to her at the time, but now seems heavy-handed and inappropriate in retrospect.  In the case of "Psycho," Moore took the character of Lila Crane, the concerned sister of Marion Crane (Janet Leigh in the original, Anne Heche in the remake) and turned her from a low-key, buttoned-down and sympathetic lady into a grungy, cold, aggressive grouch.  Admittedly, there is not much depth to Lila Crane on the page, but at least Vera Miles didn't try and do anything with the character that stuck out like a sore thumb.  In Moore's presumptuous hands, adding those aspects to the character of Lila didn't help bring depth to the character or enhance the movie.  They just appeared distracting and annoying and showed how Moore failed to understand how Lila was meant to be a plot device to help resolve the storyline.  Because she makes Lila so unsympathetic, you don't care at all what happens to her and this undermines any potential suspense the movie might have had.  It's the perfect instance of an actress who doesn't understand what her character's purpose is in the context of the movie.

Moore does even worse while taking over the role of FBI agent Clarice Starling from Jodie Foster in "Hannibal."  It must have been a daunting task to replace Foster in such an iconic, Oscar-winning performance, but Moore doesn't even give the role a chance.  This is reflected on the surface-level by Moore's god-awful phony Southern accent, which is so broad and grating that it misses the low-key, lyrical subtleties that Foster brought to her Southern accent in the first film.  What made Clarice Starling such a fascinating character wasn't so much her intelligence, courage and assertiveness (though those were all important elements).  Rather, it was the decency, compassion and humility that Foster brought to Clarice that made the character special.  Moore never understood that, which is why in her hands Starling becomes cold, disconnected, impersonal.  Clearly, the qualities of decency that I just described have never been Moore's strong suit as an actress, whereas Jodie Foster on the other hand has made a career out of finding the decent and redeeming qualities in every character and situation.  Mind you, the story and screenplay of "Hannibal" continually puts Starling in situations that don't allow her to demonstrate her strengths the way "The Silence of the Lambs" did, but Moore never does anything to remind us what it was about Clarice that made her such a special individual in the first film.  She makes Starling such a bland, uptight stick-in-the-mud, without the humanity and vulnerability that Foster brought to her, that you wonder why Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins) would have remained interested in Clarice's well-being in her later incarnation.  If Moore had played Clarice in "Silence of the Lambs," I doubt Lecter would have ever taken the personal interest in her that he did.

I think the role that really turns me off to Julianne Moore now is, ironically, the one I used to like her in the best, as Linda Partridge in Paul Thomas Anderson's "Magnolia" (1999).  In that movie, she played the young trophy wife of a man (Jason Robards) dying of cancer.  She becomes unglued at the thought of losing her husband who she married for his money and used to cheat on.  Moore overacts in scene-after-scene depicting Linda's emotional breakdown during the course of a day.  (She resorts to the sort of melodramatic histrionics that we normally associate with daytime soap operas, but which she ironically never seemed to use back in the day when she was on "As the World Turns.")  Her big scene, blowing up at a nosy, pesky pharmacist while she is picking up prescriptions for her and her husband, used to be one that I greatly admired.  I used to like the uncontrolled rage that she expressed in that scene and thought she deserved an Oscar for it.  (This was back in the day when I thought an actress expressing big emotions, as if she were on-stage projecting to the last row in the theater, constituted good acting.)

But having experienced my own father's battle with cancer, and spending a great deal of time taking care of him at the end of his life, I now realize what an utter fake "Magnolia" is as a movie, and how absolutely awful and artificial Julianne Moore's character and performance was.  Having previously not had that experience of dealing with a loved one's illness, I used to accept the melodramatic emotions in that movie at face value, but now I see it as being phony and contrived.  In my experience, and after talking with nurses and other individuals who have experienced the process of caring for a dying loved one, I realize that people don't often act with rage, anger and craziness the way Julianne Moore (and, to another extent, Tom Cruise) did in that movie.  I have found that people usually try to make things as peaceful as possible for all involved because they are all already physically and emotionally exhausted by that point and want to ensure that their loved one, and everyone nearby who is helping to take care of them, is as peaceful as possible.  It's an experience that makes people less narcissistic and the movie, and Moore's performance, misses that point.  I really resent both "Magnolia" and Julianne Moore for misrepresenting how family members of a dying loved one behave at a time like that.

The only time in the last few years that I thought Julianne Moore gave a good performance was when she returned to "As the World Turns," the daytime soap that launched her career, to briefly reprise her role as Frannie Hughes.  In the April 5, 2010 episode, Frannie returns to help celebrate her parents wedding anniversary.  Because the episode provides Moore a short cameo, she isn't given the broad canvas that she usually has to go out of her mind as an actress and is forced to give a controlled, low-key performance.  It brought out warm and sympathetic qualities that Moore has shunned throughout much of her film career.  She does a good job in the scene where she makes a toast in honor of her parents.  For once, Moore knows that she's there not to take center stage, but to let the other actors shine and, in so doing, brings out the best she has to offer as an actress as well.  Julianne Moore is usually praised for the so-called "reality" she brings to movies by playing characters in an unsympathetic and ugly manner, but I think she was at her most real when she was on daytime television playing a decent person like Frannie Hughes. 

 
I have read interviews through the years where Julianne Moore paints herself as a "boring," "normal" individual who still rides the subways of New York City with her family.  I'm always amused by people who can afford not to take public transit who still do so anyway just because they have romanticized what the rest of us have to do out of necessity.  Moreover, I didn't care for how she described her reasons for becoming a British citizen in another interview a few years ago.  Moore explained that her Scottish-born mother reluctantly renounced her British citizenship and became an American citizen because her father was an Army JAG and couldn't be married to a foreign national.  As Moore recalled, "Her parents emigrated when she was 10, so she didn't have a choice about moving to the United States.  She married my father and had to renounce her British citizenship.  My sister and I both remember her coming home in tears carrying the American flag."  Moore's negative sentiment about her mother's naturalization as an American citizen fails to appreciate the challenges and struggle that immigrants face while becoming American citizens.  At a time in our history when immigration is a hot button issue, and millions of people are trying to become American citizens, Moore demonstrates an arrogant sense of entitlement and a narcissistic lack of humility by painting her mother's naturalization as an American as some sort of tragedy.  Because Moore was born in the United States, and was handed her American citizenship and didn't have to go through the process of working for it like immigrants are required to (and as such doesn't have to live her life worrying whether people will question if she's an American), she doesn't appear to understand how becoming an American citizen is, in fact, a very positive event for many people.  There's nothing tragic about it and Moore's ability to pooh-pooh and characterize it as such seems to demonstrate how she is far too interested in wallowing in negativity.

Moore has also stated in several different interviews that she is attracted to playing dark characters, or finding the darkness in otherwise light characters, because her own life is so stable and happy that it allows her to work out those emotions in her work without having to live it in her own life.  This attraction to finding the darkness even in allegedly brighter situations saw its zenith when she played the unhappy 1950s housewives in both "Far From Heaven" (2002) and The Hours" (2002).  I used to think naively that that showed how grounded she was because she wanted to exorcise negativity from herself by playing it on-screen rather than experiencing it at home.  These days, however, I consider it a pompous, self-serving, elitist statement that suggests the extent to which Julianne Moore sees herself as being better than the rest of humanity, who don't have the luxury of being an actress to play out negative emotions and events in their lives on-screen because they already have to deal with it in their daily reality.

As I get older, I am less and less enthusiastic about misanthropic movies and actors that set out to show the worst that humanity has to offer.  I always try to remain as positive and optimistic as possible, but I also have seen and experienced enough to realize that life can really stink despite one's best efforts otherwise.  There's enough suffering, nihilism, and misanthropy in day-to-day life that I don't enjoy watching movies that self-indulgently wallow in it.  I find it absolutely obnoxious that Julianne Moore thinks it's appealing to play dark and unsympathetic roles because she doesn't have those elements in her own life.  It suggests a lack of humility on Moore's part about the sort of struggle and suffering that other individuals have to deal with in their daily existence.  There's a quote attributed to her on IMDB that says that she realizes, as she gets older, that people have enough darkness in their lives that they want to laugh when they watch something on-screen.  Even though she claims to have had this epiphany, it doesn't seem to be reflected in her own work.  As I get older, I am not for the romanticization of suffering at all, especially not the way Julianne Moore portrays it.

A Mother's Day Tribute to Doris Day in Alfred Hitchcock's "The Man Who Knew Too Much"

On this Mother's Day, I wanted to share some memories of the times I spent enjoying movies with my Mom.  My mother's favorite actress happens to be Doris Day.  When I was growing up, one particular film she and I enjoyed watching together was Alfred Hitchcock's "The Man Who Knew Too Much" (1956), the remake of his 1934 British film of the same name.  I think it was the first movie where my mother became aware of Doris Day and, thereafter, she was always receptive to watching a film with her.  Mom always responded to the warmth and decency that Day's characters always represented.  I think Mom identified with Day's screen image in that respect.  Mom continues to respect Doris Day as an all-around talented powerhouse, someone who was skillful at comedy, drama, as well as musically, and probably her favorite of all of Day's films is the first one she saw, "The Man Who Knew Too Much."

Interestingly, Mom never refers to this movie by its proper name but as "Que, Sera, Sera," the Oscar-winning song that Day's character sings two separate times in the course of the film.  Perhaps Mom instinctively felt that the fateful meaning behind the song "Whatever will be, will be" was more descriptive and fitting for the film than its actual title.  Mom particularly admired the character that Day played in that film, a concerned mother who, along with husband James Stewart, takes a proactive role in order to rescue her son, who has been kidnapped by assassins whose insidious plot Stewart has unexpectedly uncovered while the family is on vacation in Marrakesh, Morocco.  Mom always felt that the actions and reactions that Day's character experiences throughout the course of the movie made sense to her from the perspective of being a mother who would also do everything she could for the welfare of her children.  Mom responded positively to the credibility of Day's character, which is appropriate given that it's probably one of the best roles that Doris Day played in her entire film career. 

Day played Jo McKenna, the wife of American physician Ben McKenna (James Stewart) and mother of Hank (Christopher Olsen), their young son.  Jo was once a popular singing star before she gave up her career to become a homemaker in Indianapolis.  They are on holiday in Morocco when they witness the murder of a French intelligence agent (Daniel Gelin) before their very eyes at an open marketplace.  The agent, who the day before had spent time with the McKennas asking them probing questions about their lives, tells Ben about an assassination plot that is afoot which will take place within days in London and to tell the authorities to look up "Ambrose Chappell."  Ben and Jo leave their son Hank in the care of a British woman Mrs. Drayton (Brenda de Banzie) who they met just the day before as her husband Mr. Drayton (Bernard Miles) accompanies Ben and Jo to the police station to give a statement of the events they just witnessed.  While there, Ben receives a phone call threatening the safety of their son if Ben ever reveals what the French agent told them.  Mr. Drayton offers to return to the hotel to locate his wife and Ben.  When Ben and Jo return to the hotel, Ben learns that Mrs. Drayton never returned from the marketplace with Hank and Mr. Drayton has checked out of his hotel.  Ben informs Jo about the threat made against Hank and that the Draytons have disappeared with their son.  Jo becomes hysterical as Ben attempts to comfort and calm her.

Ben and Jo head straight to London in pursuit of the Draytons and follow several leads in order to locate their son.  Their investigation leads to their discovery that "Ambrose Chappel" is not an individual, but is actually a church where Mr. Drayton poses as the minister.  Jo goes to call the police as Ben confronts the Draytons.  He is knocked unconscious and locked in the church, but makes his escape by climbing the church's bell rope.  Jo, unable to find Ben at the church after she returns with the police, heads to the Royal Albert Hall where the London police detective who offered to help them locate Hank is attending a performance.  While there, Jo instinctively realizes that the target of the assassination plot is a visiting foreign Prime Minister attending the performance, as well as recognizes who the assassin is from having briefly met him in Marrakesh, and screams in time to foil the attempt on the statesman's life as Ben arrives on the scene to wrestle with the assassin for his gun, who falls to his death.  Later, Ben and Jo rescue their son from the Draytons, who are hiding at the foreign Embassy of the dignitary who was the target of the assassination plot, as the physically and emotionally exhausted family is once again reunited.

Jo McKenna stands out among other depictions of mothers in the films of Alfred Hitchcock because she is one of the few who is portrayed sympathetically.  Edna Best, who played essentially the same character in Hitchcock's original 1934 version of "The Man Who Knew Too Much" is another that comes to mind.  True, Jo McKenna has traits of being hysterical and emotional upon learning of her son's kidnapping, but that's understandable under the circumstances.  (I think my mother felt a lot of compassion for Jo during the heartbreaking scene when she learns that Hank has been kidnapped.  She felt that Doris Day accurately portrayed how any mother would feel under the circumstances.)  Day's performance in the scene where Jo reacts to learning of Hank's kidnapping, as well as the one where she is put on the phone with him while at the London airport, has rawness, as well as primal rage and intensity, that you don't normally associate from films of this period.  Jo grieves over the kidnapping of her son with the same level of hurt and pain as if he has died.  Jo is different from other Hitchcock mother's because she's not nearly as treacherous, or as grasping and controlling, as Leopoldine Konstantin in "Notorious" (1946), the unseen Mrs Bates in "Psycho" (1960), or Jessica Tandy in "The Birds" (1963).  Jo has many positive traits which end up helping to save her family's life throughout "The Man Who Knew Too Much."

Jo McKenna is a sincerely loving and well-meaning mother who has a strong bond with her son, as demonstrated by the charming scene in the Marrakesh hotel room where Jo and Hank sing "Que Sera Sera" with each other as she is helping him prepare for bed.  Despite Jo giving up her career to become a mother and homemaker, she is still able to constructively utilize her musical talents by imparting it to her son.  The mother/son duet scene in "The Man Who Knew Too Much" resonates because Hitchcock utilizes it to underscore the love and respect that Jo and Hank feel for one another as mother and child.  Later, this is put to good use when Jo comes to the Embassy, on the pretext of singing, so that her voice will trail off throughout the large structure of the Embassy and alert Hank that she is within the vicinity.  Hank, in turn, whistles the melody of "Que Sera Sera" from the room upstairs where he is held captive, alerting Jo and Hank to his whereabouts.  In essence, the love of music that Jo has shared with her son ends up playing a vital role in saving his life.

Hitchcock also underscores his respect for Jo by demonstrating her keen instincts and situational awareness that allows her to scope out a situation better than her husband Ben.  The movie might be called "The Man Who Knew Too Much," but it's the woman with him that takes that knowledge and does something proactive with it.  Well-meaning Ben is a patriarchal figure who clearly believes the man is the dominant figure in the family and Jo has gone along with it to the degree that she's given up her career and moved to Indianapolis in order to be with him.  (James Stewart should be admired for allowing himself to play more complex, less sympathetic characters in his films for Hitchcock.)  However, naive Ben never suspects anything is afoot when Frenchman Louis Bernard practically interrogates him and his family on the bus ride into Marrakesh.  Jo, on the other hand, instinctively senses that there is more to Louis Bernard's questioning of her and her family than meets the eye.  Moreover, Ben never feels any suspicion towards the Draytons, even admonishing Jo to stop being paranoid about them, while Jo intuitively feels something threatening about them the moment she first encounters them as they arrive at their hotel.  Jo is an individual who is protective of her family, particularly her son and, if she had her way, Jo would never have associated with Louis Bernard or the Draytons, or entrusted her son with Mrs. Drayton, if it were solely up to her.  Ben's trusting naivete ends up endangering the lives of his family and, in many ways, Jo ends up having to play a proactive role to restore the status quo.

Throughout the movie, Jo is continually one step ahead of Ben in their on-going quest and investigation to locate their son.  While Ben goes on a wild goose chase to find the gentleman named Ambrose Chappell that Louis Bernard told him about, Jo is the one who figures out that "Ambrose Chappell" is not an individual but an actual location--a church ("Ambrose Chapel")--that they should be directing their attention towards.  Rather than waiting for Ben to return to their hotel room to inform him of her realization, she heads straight to Ambrose Chapel to scope out the locale, leaving word with her friends (who were visiting with Jo at the hotel) to tell Ben her whereabouts.  Jo waits for Ben to arrive as she wisely realizes that she should not go into the church by herself to confront the Draytons.  However, at Ben's insistence, Jo reluctantly leaves him behind and calls the police for help as Ben foolishly confronts the Draytons inside the church without reinforcements.  Ben is knocked unconscious because he again underestimates the Draytons.  When Jo returns with the police and is unable to locate anyone at the church, she proactively heads straight to the Albert Hall, where Police Inspector Buchanan (Ralph Truman), who offered to help them earlier, but was rebuffed by Ben, is attending at diplomatic affair.

While at the Albert Hall, Jo recognizes who the assassin is, after having seen him earlier in Marrakesh, and instinctively realizes the target of the assassination plot is the visiting prime minister attending a musical performance at the venue.  In a scene that should have earned Doris Day an Oscar nomination, Jo watches in silent agony as she sees the assassin assume his position in order to take out his intended target.  The emotional turmoil that Jo experiences as she weighs her duties as a mother (who must remain silent in the hope that it will save her son) and her duty as a citizen of the world (who must speak up out of a moral duty to avert an act of terrorism) is absolutely gut-wrenching as Day skillfully demonstrates Jo's conflicted loyalties on her emotionally expressive face.  Eventually, Jo makes the right moral decision and lets out a scream that causes the prime minister to shift slightly in his seat and sustain a minor flesh wound instead of being killed.

Jo ultimately does more to avert this assassination attempt than Ben does, who simply wrestles with the assassin for the gun and watches as the assassin falls to his death while attempting to make a getaway.  As Jo explains to a bystander, "He was pointing at the prime minister and he was going to kill him and I realized that I had to scream."  Unlike Ben, who refused to cooperate with the police or try to inform any third parties that Hank had been kidnapped, Jo can no longer remain silent as to her knowledge of the events swirling around her.  She takes proactive measures not merely to save the Prime Minister's life, but also to not allow the kidnappers to intimidate her any longer by forcing her to remain silent.  In so doing, she defeats their plans and helps to set up their ultimate downfall in the last act of the film.  Her scream is both a cry for help but also a proper expression of her rage at what the Drayton's, and their associates, have put her and her family through.  Jo, and not Ben, is ultimately the true hero behind "The Man Who Knew Too Much."

Doris Day gave an excellent and sensitive performance as Jo, allowing one to see all of the character's weaknesses, vulnerabilities, paranoia, as well as courage, strength, and resolve.  She is a multi-dimensional, sympathetic human being whose sense of duty as a mother, and love for her son, helps inform and guide her decisions to try and bring about a positive resolution to this crisis that has been thrust upon her.  Rather than remaining weak and helpless, wringing her hands back at the hotel, Jo is emboldened throughout "The Man That Knew Too Much" to take proactive measures that not only help ensure the safety of her son, but also averts an assassination attempt and undermines the treachery of the Draytons.  My Mom really admired the Jo McKenna character because she felt that Jo is acting and reacting the way any mother would have done under the circumstances.  I think the truth, credibility and validity of Jo McKenna was what my mother responded to the most in that character, which is why we both continue to enjoy that movie immensely to this day.  On this Mother's Day, I want to pay tribute to my own mother and all the wonderful times we have spent together enjoying movies and each others' company, as well as honor and acknowledge one of the finest cinematic depictions of a mother's enduring love for her child: my mother's favorite actress Doris Day as Jo McKenna in Alfred Hitchcock's 1956 classic "The Man Who Knew Too Much."

A "Condominium" Worth Its Market Value

By 1980, the disaster genre that had started a decade earlier with "Airport" (1970) and "The Poseidon Adventure" (1972) had pretty much run its course.  Irwin Allen foisted the bargain basement "When Time Ran Out..." (1980) on disinterested moviegoers earlier that year and flopped.  Universal's "Airport" series ended the year before with the excreable "The Concorde: Airport '79" (1979).  However, later in 1980 the Operation Prime Time consortium of independent television stations quietly aired the thoroughly entertaining two-part TV movie "Condominium" (1980), a disaster-type melodrama based on John D. MacDonald's best selling novel of 1977.  For once, the characters and storylines of the movie were actually engaging and interesting so that the audience wasn't impatiently waiting for the action and special effects to take place.  In fact, the ultimate destruction of the titular condominium became the natural culmination of all the storylines, rather than standing as the sole raison d'etre for the whole production.

"Condominium" was the story of the denizens of the stylish Silver Sands Condominium in the fictional Fiddler Key in Florida.  As they deal with rising condo association fees and the interpersonal relationships and conflicts taking place within the building, a contingency of residents in the building become aware that Silver Sands has been constructed using substandard materials.  Barbara Eden had one of her most underrated roles as the attractive Barbara Messenger, the much younger wife of wealthy retired industrialist Lee Messenger (Ralph Bellamy) who is dying of cancer.  Barbara is attracted to hydraulics engineer Sam Harrison (Dan Haggerty), who is visiting his friend Gus Garver (Steve Forrest) while his wife Carolyn (Virginia Leith) is recovering from a stroke in the hospital.  Sam is the one who first spots the cracks in the foundation of the building, and notices the poor materials and workmanship characterizing the construction of the building.

Sam works closely with his friend Gus, the Messengers, and retired government intelligence officer Henry Churchbridge (Richard Anderson) and his wealthy aristocratic Italian wife Carlotta (Linda Cristal) to try and make shady construction magnate Marty Liss (Stuart Whitman) pay for a seawall and other repairs that might help provide reinforcement for the building.  The residents of Silver Sands do not realize that Marty Liss and his construction operation are a front to launder syndicate money and that construction of the condominium was the result of these endeavors.  Liss cut corners on the construction of the building in order to pocket some of the budget for the construction costs for himself.  Concerned at what the residents might dig up about him, Liss sends in his attractive associate Drusilla Byrne (Pamela Hensley) to live in the building and gather intel.  Dru and Gus slowly become good friends and Gus finds himself attracted to her despite his loyalty to his ailing wife.  Meanwhile, Sam and Barbara become close with the encouragement of the ailing Lee, who doesn't want Barbara left alone after he is gone.  As they try to raise the consciousness of the other residents in the building regarding the potential safety issues concerning the building, they must eventually deal with the impending arrival of the deadly Hurricane Ella, which threatens to make the potential safety issues in the building a tangible reality.

"Condominium" works because director Sidney Hayers and screenwriter Steve Hayes create a vivid atmosphere in the movie, thanks to lively performances and characters, that makes Silver Sands feel like a real community.  The location shooting at the Pinnacle Port condominium and resort in Panama City Beach, Florida, also contributes greatly to this atmosphere and helps create in the viewer a genuine feeling of how beautiful and idyllic living at Fiddler Key is for the condominium residents.  When I saw "Condominium" on its first airing as a kid, I wanted to live at Silver Sands someday, especially if my neighbors were anywhere as interesting as the characters in this movie.  In contrast to, say, "When Time Ran Out...," the characters in "Condominium" are not mere plot devices to help move the disaster storyline along, but vibrant and interesting people who would've held our attention even if there was no impending hurricane threatening the residents of Silver Sands.  In addition to the characters I've already mentioned, there's also Don Galloway and Ana Alicia as an unhappily married couple Jack and Thelma Messenkott.  Jack's a middle-aged man who married Thelma, a much younger woman who he thought would bring excitement into his life.  Jack is frustrated that all Thelma wants to do is explore the nature and greenery surrounding the condominium rather than go play tennis with him.  Little does Jack realize Thelma's emotionally fragile nature, which comes to fore when she has a nervous breakdown at witnessing the jungle next to Silver Sands being torn down by Marty Liss to build an identical structure.  A very young Ana Alicia gets a chance to test run the sort of disarming vulnerability and passionate emotionalism that she later specialized in while playing Melissa Agretti on "Falcon Crest." 

Larry Bishop plays the building's smarmy and sleazy manager, Julian Higbee, married to beautiful Lorrie (Mimi Maynard), but having an affair with smart sassy nurse Bobbie Fish (Carlene Watkins).  Lorrie and Bobbie both become fed up with Julian, and become good friends.  They turn to each other for emotional comfort and support in a relationship that eventually turns into a surprisingly sympathetic and non-exploitative lesbian storyline that totally went over my 8 year old head when I saw this on its initial airing.  Looking at it again decades later, I'm impressed at how "Condominium" treated Lorrie and Bobbie's relationship as nothing novel or unusual.  The result is probably one of the most pure and sincere romantic storylines in the movie.  There's a very sensitive scene later in the movie, as the residents are evacuating at the threat of the impending Hurricane Ella, where Lorrie and Bobbie discuss Lorrie leaving Julian once and for all and making a life for themselves just before Julian walks in on them.  The previously meek Lorrie stands up to him and walks out on Julian for good.  What makes it work is that both Lorrie and Bobbie are honest with each other about their fears and their uncertainty of being together, and Maynard and Watkins make it a believable moment that helps "Condominium" still look current and relevant in 2013.

Nedra Volz plays kind-hearted elderly resident Mrs. Conlaw, who is always telling Steve Forrest's Gus Garver, the head of the condominium association, of every little problem in the building.  Despite her pickiness she is a very endearing character, not at all a nuisance, particularly in the scene when Gus is leaving to go visit his wife in the hospital.  Mrs. Conlaw stops him at the elevator and he thinks she's going to ask him to take care of another issue in the building, when all she intended to do was to ask him to give his wife her best wishes and that they all miss her at the building.  In one of the most delightful twists to "Condominium," we later learn that the kindly Mrs. Conlaw is actually the mother of Conlaw (Nehemiah Persoff), the ruthless Miami mobster that Marty Liss works for who financed the construction of Silver Sands to help launder his dirty money.  (Throughout the movie, we see Mrs. Conlaw call her son from the payphone in the condominium parking lot.  We assume that her son is probably as kind and mild-mannered as she is and are startled when we realize how sinister and powerful he really is.)  When Conlaw learns that Marty Liss skimmed money from the construction budget for his personal gain, he is outraged particularly because his mother had been living in that building.  Stuart Whitman does a great job at creating such a sleazy, unscrupulous character in Liss that even mobsters like Conlaw appear to have more common decency than he does.

 
Richard Anderson and Linda Cristal also do good work as a loving married couple Henry and Carlotta Churchbridge--he's a former CIA agent, she's a wealthy European aristocrat he married while working overseas--who still have much passion and affection for each other in their marriage.  The stability of their characters help provide a sense of balance compared to that of their neighbors.  As the Churchbridges are evacuating from Silver Sands, I like how Richard Anderson plays the scene where Henry takes one last look around his home and says "I was just thinking, in spite of everything, we've had a pretty good life here" with an air of both realism and romanticism that shows how his character has the ability to take in all that is around him.  Richard Anderson also has several good scenes with Ana Alicia's fragile Thelma, as Henry is the one resident at Silver Sands who also understands and appreciates Thelma's love of the natural environment surrounding the condominium.  When the neighboring jungle is torn down to make way for Marty Liss's new Harbor Pointe condominium project, Henry is also the one character who recognizes how this will emotionally shatter the unstable Thelma.  Thanks to the good work of all involved, you never get bored with any of the characters and storylines in "Condominium" the way you do with other late-period disaster movies.

Probably the most interesting storylines involve a pair of love triangles featuring the movie's most important characters.  The first one involves Barbara Eden's character Barbara Messenger, who is married to Ralph Bellamy's wealthy Lee Messenger (an older man dying of cancer), but is attracted to Dan Haggerty's hydraulics engineer Sam Harrison.  I like the fact that Barbara and Lee have a loving and honest marriage despite the age differences between them, and that Lee loves Barbara so much that he encourages her to work with Sam to investigate the structural issues with the condominium in the hopes that it will allow them to become close with one another.  Lee wants to ensure that there will be someone who will be there for Barbara once he has passed away.  This was the first thing I ever saw Ralph Bellamy in as a kid, and he was very likeable and appealing in ways that he was rarely allowed to be later in his career, where he often played villains in such things as "Rosemary's Baby" (1968) and "Nightmare in Badham County" (1976).  I took to how kind and generous Lee's love for Barbara was that he wasn't the least bit possessive or jealous of Sam's presence--Lee has enough confidence to know that Barbara sincerely loves him that he is secure in encouraging his wife's blossoming friendship with Sam.

The underrated Barbara Eden has a better-than-average role for herself as Barbara Messenger, one that allowed her to go beyond playing what one assumes to be the stereotypical "Barbara Eden" type of character in a light and cheery mode.  Instead, the role of Barbara Messenger allows Eden to play a serious individual with sincere concerns and hopes for herself who has already endured some genuine tragedies in her life.  Eden has always been a fine, subtle actress who made the most of every opportunity presented to her.  However, I sometimes think she is taken for granted by people who assume real acting involves changing ones attitude and appearance for every role they play as opposed to just being real.  Eden's strength is that she convincingly plays believable human beings, not archetypal "characters."  However, "Condominium" stands out because it allows Eden more interesting material to work with.  At one point Barbara reveals to Sam that she was once married with a daughter, but that her family was killed in a house fire.  She took a job working for Lee and, when he learned of her tragedy, he put her to work and kept her busy so that she didn't have time to feel sorry for herself.  In the process, Barbara and Lee sincerely fell in love with each other and she is genuinely concerned with his comfort and well-being.  Eden has a grown up role that allows her to go beyond just being cute and charming and the result is one of her better post "I Dream of Jeannie" TV movies.  Eden brings a lot of compassion and intelligence to the role that allows the viewer to understand the sort of hurt and grief that Barbara Messenger has experienced in her past.  Because of the sensitivity and depth she brings to the role, Eden makes Barbara Messenger a very human and realistic individual.  Eden and Ralph Bellamy are excellent in their scenes together, giving Barbara and Lee Messenger a quick-witted chemistry that makes their marriage completely believable despite their age difference.  Meanwhile, Eden and Dan Haggerty don't exactly have exciting or believable chemistry together, but they seem comfortable and at-ease around each other that you are able to sense, at the very least, a sincere platonic friendship developing between them that is touching and appealing.

The other love triangle involves Steve Forrest's Gus Garver, his ailing wife Carolyn, and Pamela Hensley's sexy Dru Byrne.  Dru is sent by Marty Liss on a reconnaissance mission to live in the building, befriend Gus Garver, and spy on the condo residents so that she can report back to Liss what the association of owners might be planning against him in terms of their dissatisfaction with the rising maintenance fees and unsatisfactory management of the building.  In the process, Dru and Gus become genuine friends and eventually become attracted to each other.  When Dru learns about Gus and Sam's report that Silver Sands is a potential death-trap, she humbly tells the condo owners, when they kick her out of their owner's association meeting, "I would just like to say one thing, if I may.  Silver Sands may or may not be safe.  I really don't know.  But, had I known it was unsafe, I would never have sold one single solitary unit.  And that's the God's honest truth."  Later, Dru urges Marty Liss to bring in Sam Harrison or another engineer to devise sea walls or implement repairs to the building to fortify it against a hurricane.  When he refuses, she quits her job, but not before informing him that "Look, I've done my share of the dirty work, too, if that's what you mean...True, I won't deny that money is very high on my list.  But there are limits, Marty."

In the best scene of the movie, Dru comes clean to Gus, while they are having drinks at a bar, about Marty Liss's connection to the mob and how Silver Sands was constructed in order to launder Syndicate money in legitimate business operations.  When Gus asks Dru whether she was aware of all of this she humbly responds, "Did I work for the mob, you mean?  Well, I worked for Marty.  And I certainly knew where my salary was coming from.  Sorry about that, Darlin'.  I wish it weren't true.  But today isn't my day for lying.  Anyway, I'm through with all that now.  That's why I'm telling you all this to rinse out my conscience so to speak."  As Gus tells Dru that he is happy she is no longer associated with him, Dru says "I was hoping you'd say that...Don't you know why?  You can mean a lot to me.  A whole lot.  And I guess what I'm hoping for more than anything right now is if there's a possibility we could..."  Gus cuts her off before Dru is able to finish her statement and she realizes that he does not intend to become romantically involved with her even though he cares for her very much.  Hensley does an excellent job in this scene projecting Dru's hurt, embarrassment and disappointment at being rejected by Gus.

As an awkward silence sets in between them, she slowly lifts her glass of wine, sips from it, sets it down and stares at her glass, trying to keep busy in order to save face and cover up her feelings for Gus.  When Dru says that she plans to move out of the building and stay with a friend in Fort Lauderdale, Gus comments "It's a nice place."  Dru bravely and defiantly says "They're all nice places, Gus darlin', when you're with the right person.  You take care.  You know, your wife is a lucky lady" before she kisses Gus on the cheek and walks out of his life forever.  I always remember feeling sad for both Dru and Gus in this scene as they realize that their friendship, which meant a lot to them, has now come to an end.  Dru turns out to be the most interesting character in "Condominium," a woman with a level of corruptibility and shadiness attached to her, but who is attracted to the purity and decency of Gus' soul and ultimately proves to be a decent person herself when she quits working for Marty after learning of the dangerous structural issues with Silver Sands.

 
Later on, "Condominium" strongly suggests that Dru perished in the Hurricane, as she allows herself to be seduced by building contractor Cole Kimber (Jack Jones) in his motor home while he is helping her move out of the building.  Dru and Cole ignore the warning signs of the storm raging around them as she gives in to the advances of Kimber, an associate of Liss's that she always found repulsive.  You don't actually see them perish, but since the movie never gives you a scene which shows Dru has safely evacuated to the mainland, you ultimately have to conclude that her character did not survive.  I always felt that Dru intentionally did this on purpose because of her guilt over helping Marty construct the building, as well as her sadness at losing Gus.  She was in-essence punishing herself, to further "rinse out her conscience," by ignoring the hurricane warnings and allowing herself to drown at the end.  However, "Condominium" spares us an undignified death scene for the ultimately sympathetic Dru.  She might be punishing herself, but the movie doesn't punish her any further by exploiting her death on-screen as other disaster movies might have done for their morally complex characters.

I was so wrapped up in the storylines of "Condominium" that I patiently awaited the arrival of the deadly Hurricane Ella, which threatens to topple the building.  As the storm approaches, most of the residents vacate to the mainland for safety, while some residents stay behind and throw a hurricane party.  For once, the foolishness of some characters in a disaster movie to stay behind as the danger approaches makes sense, instead of standing as a phony and lazy plot contrivance.  The residents of Silver Sands are mostly retirees on fixed incomes.  It would be difficult for them to pack and move without a financial safety net to allow them to land elsewhere.  Even though we know they are making the wrong decisions for themselves, it is not without reason.  Unlike most TV shows or movies these days, "Condominium" acknowledges and explores the financial concerns of middle-aged and elderly retirees.  When Gus tries to convince the residents at a community meeting, who are skeptical of the results of Sam's survey, that their lives are at stake and that life is more important than money, resident Audrey Ames (Elinor Donahue) reminds Gus from the audience, "When people are living on a fixed income, Mr. Garver, life is money."  In so doing, the movie has a depth and subtext that allows it to rise above disaster movie cliches.

What I like about "Condominium" is the fact that we care about the people in the story and that the action and special effects of the final act have been carefully integrated into the story rather than standing alone as the main centerpiece for the film.  "Condominium" does such a good job balancing all these characters and stories it even has time to provide a wrap up to a minor storyline involving obnoxious loudmouth condominium resident Frank Branhammer (Bill Zuckert), an overbearing bully who usually intimidates his meek wife Doris (Lyndel Stuart).  As the Branhammers attend the foolish hurricane party, Frank yells at Doris and tells her to shut up when she expresses fears about the hurricane.  The sympathetic Doris finally has the strength and resolve to stand up to her husband and tells him "Goodbye, Frank...I mean, I'm leaving.  Right now.  You I can take.  You plus the hurricane is just too much...See you around, Frank, if you can swim that is" as she walks out on her husband and presumably evacuates safely to the mainland while her husband is left to perish due to his own arrogance and folly.  It's a completely satisfying ending to a minor storyline in the movie.  (However, as obnoxious as Branhammer is, he seems genuinely surprised and hurt when Doris walks out on him.  Moreover, even someone as gentle as Thelma Messenkott finds redeeming qualities in Branhammer when she defends him to her disdainful husband Jack during a condo association meeting.  Thelma tells Jack "It's only because he feels out of place here" that Branhammer is as loud and belligerent as he is.  In so doing, "Condominium" demonstrates how fair-minded it is about all of its characters.)

At the end of "Condominium," when Hurricane Ella becomes powerful enough to generate a tidal wave that hits Fiddler Key and Silver Sands, and causes the building to crumble into the ocean, there is a bit of sadness because the building that linked together such interesting characters and stories has now been destroyed.  A few critics at the time, who called "Condominium" a piece of "trash TV" (decades before reality shows taught us the true definition of that phrase), criticized the special effects at the end of "Condominium" as being substandard in its depiction of the destruction of Silver Sands, but I completely disagree.  Unlike Irwin Allen's "When Time Ran Out..." (which botched the ultimate destruction of the resort complex in that movie by having a cheesy bit of animation, purportedly depicting a volcanic fireball, envelope a wide shot of that building), the miniatures used at the end of "Condominium" to depict the destruction of Silver Sands are actually quite detailed and impressive, especially by 1980 television standards.  As the building collapses, you realize that these lively and engaging characters, who once lived here together and made Silver Sands an interesting place to live, will now be scattered to the winds as they begin to forge new lives for themselves elsewhere.  Unlike the characters in other disaster movies, who you forget about once the credits roll, you actually wonder what will happen next to the characters of "Condominium" as the surviving, former residents of Silver Sands continue to live with the after-effects of Hurricane Ella in their lives.